


Please Leave A Message

by Iurien



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29474625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iurien/pseuds/Iurien
Summary: Michael falls victim to the demons inside his head, as well as those outside of it. He reached out, and a dial tone was the only thing that responded.Only one thing left to do.(Dakota, as well as all other mentioned characters, are owned by my friends Ghost, Mixxie, and Spooks!)
Kudos: 1





	Please Leave A Message

**Author's Note:**

> Another RP server work, but more of a stand-alone than Ellie’s was. Michael is a fallen Angel who resides in Hell with his friends, but can’t escape the depression cultivated by his own sense of self.

The idle sounds of cars and motorcycles passing by on the freeway were the only companions in a pitch-Black apartment tonight. 2:34AM displayed on Michael’s phone, brighter than it seemed to normally be due to the time of night. It hurt his eyes, so he faced the phone back down.

Michael was sitting heavily on his bed, hunched over and resting his elbows on his knees. The window was open- It was a nice night out, a cold but not biting breeze filtering into the stuffy room. One of the nicest feelings, in his opinion. He’d probably miss that, but oh well. Nothing was forever, right? He sat there now for hours, contemplating, curious, alone. He’d texted Dakota maybe ten minutes ago- No response. Of course, the man was probably asleep right now. Michael was the only one awake…

Awake and alone.

He sighed, and twirled the rainbow pocket knife given to him by Dakota in one hand while his other reached for the phone again, almost desperately this time- Like he was giving himself another chance for  _ something _ and wanted to take it, prove himself wrong. Hitting the home button, it revealed a familiar lock screen- No notifications, but a background picture collage of everyone he’d tried to grow closer to this year. Ammienna, Thimble, Dakota, Trixie, Cotton, Ruby, Jay, Cyndy...Each one of them were a delight to know, but he was certain the sentiment was never returned. He wasn’t the best guy, nor the most fun to be around. Quite the downer, actually, with a cultivated pompous attitude to match. He couldn’t blame them for going out and never inviting him.

Michael went into his contacts, Dakota’s contact, and hit ‘Call.’ It rang until it hit voicemail, the familiar and fond voice reaching the man’s ears and placating fears, but still he felt the same dread as always whenever someone didn’t pick up. Which was often.

“Hey hey, it’s Dakota! I’m not at my phone right now, probably being gay or chasing my pets, but leave a message and I’ll get back to ya! Beeeep.” Dakota did a poor imitation of the voicemail beeping. It did the real beep this time. Michael held up the open blade to the city lights streaming in from the window as he talked, admiring the multi-colored glint it provided to his colorless world.

“Hey, Dakota...Um...Sorry to call you so late, I just...” He breathed in shakily. ”I needed to talk to you.”

His heart was hammering away in his chest, the most alive he’s felt in  _ weeks _ . “It’s not a big deal, anyway. I know you’re probably sleeping, or taking care of Randall or...” He felt like throwing up, and battled the urge back ferociously. “Nevermind. Say goodbye to Ammienna for me.”  _ Click.  _ He hung up the phone.

The tears came easily. They always did. Especially when he was alone, in his apartment, with nothing but the sounds of his own labored, panicked breathing. His hands were numb with the same adrenaline, same creeping coldness. The realization of what he was about to do was less humiliating than the message he’d left for Dakota. Maybe he never should have called at all, never made a show of the dozen texts pleading  _ ’You up?’, ‘If you are, can we talk?’, ‘Please answer.’ , ‘I don’t want to be alone right now...’* _

Everything was hard in life, he knew that. It was hard for everyone, perhaps in varying ways, but hard nonetheless, and he wasn’t special. Though in his mind, despite the efforts he made daily, it never seemed to matter enough, he never did  _ good _ enough.  _ He _ was never good enough. Everyone could show something for their efforts, but what did he have? Something always went wrong, he somehow managed to say or do the wrong thing and suddenly they’re all  _ looking _ at him and  _ judging _ and- and hating  _ every fibre of his being- _

Michael shook his head against the screams inside of it, and gingerly laid down on his bed, a nest of towels that he then rested his left arm in. He didn’t like to leave messes behind for people to clean up anymore. There’d be nothing left to hate soon enough anyway.

In the morning, Dakota awoke to find 26 unread messages, and one short voicemail. He hit play.

And his blood ran cold.


End file.
